Buy Yourself Another Day
by hedgehoginatutu
Summary: Canon divergent. Peeta and Katniss serve as mentors during the 75th Hunger Games and learn exactly what is expected in return for sponsorship of their tributes. Written for PiP challenge 'Peeta's Paint Box' day 1 - Red.


Summary: Canon divergent. Peeta and Katniss serve as mentors during the 75th Hunger Games and learn exactly what is expected in return for sponsorship of their tributes.

Notes: I have not published any fanfiction in over two years and this is my first ever time publishing fanfiction for The Hunger Games fandom. This fic was written for Prompts in Panem's challenge Peeta's Paint Box and was submitted for day 1 (Red) (August 25th 2014). Please be kind (but also brutally honest). I wrote this quite quickly to spur myself on with writing regularly. I am a bit of a perfectionist and struggle to produce anything I am ever happy with. I beta read for myself so blame me for everything.

Disclaimer: I'm just a fan. I don't own anything. The title is taken from the song 'Kingdom Come' by the Civil Wars, which is featured on album The Hunger Games (Songs from District 12 and beyond).

Word Count: 2,306

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Buy Yourself Another Day

The top of the embossed note card declared that I was "cordially invited" but I had a feeling 'summoned' was what was implied. The tributes had now been in the arena for 12 hours. The Girl had taken a blow to the head as she tried to run from the Cornucopia. The Boy was still alive though.

Haymitch had explained to us that sponsorship money was raised at the brunches, cocktail parties, and banquets that were held during the Games in the presidential palace. The mentors we met from District 3 has said that the first day is always slow while the Capitol's wealthiest citizens get a feel for this year's Games and decide which tributes are worth an investment. When I learnt that Peeta and I would be coming to the Capitol together as mentors I knew I could rely on Peeta to charm potential sponsors. If even Haymitch had managed to reel in enough sponsors for me, I was sure that Peeta's bright blue eyes and lilting voice would have Capitol pundits eating from the palm of his hands. Peeta dealing with sponsorship put the odds firmly in the favor of District 12.

Peeta and I spent the day together in silence watching the comprehensive coverage in the training building. Back in District 12 edited versions of the live action are broadcast so that appears that there is constantly something happening with at least one of the tributes. Here we are treated to live feeds following each tribute. We don't get to miss a single moment of the horror. Six of the screens had gone blank when I retired to my dressing rooms to wait on my prep team.

My prep team was full of rumors about who was expected to be at the party tonight and how much they would be willing to spend on a tribute. Unfortunately they had no information about which tributes were looking like early favorites.

Cinna arrived as they left and he embraced me tightly and my hold on him was just as fierce.

"How is it so far?" He asked softly.

"We lost the girl already," my eyes flick downwards, but he lifted my chin up again.

"How are you doing?" He rephrased what I am sure was his original question.

"I'm fine." I stated. I am. I have had twelve months to accept that I was going to become a mentor and probably watch two tributes die. I also know that I will have to return to the district with two dead bodies and offer words of condolence to the families. That is when I will not be fine. Right now I have managed to convince myself they are just tributes (The Boy and The Girl), but when I return to 12 I will have to acknowledge the fact that thanks to me and Peeta Lora Messerling, whose name alphabetically followed Peeta's through our school days, is dead and Ardal Proctor, a boy that had been part of a gang from the Seam that had made life hell for Delly Cartwright's younger brother, will probably also be dead.

"I really loved the parade costumes this year. You and Portia really outdid yourselves."

"Why thank you," Cinna smiled graciously. "Unfortunately, I have to let you know that I had no hand at all in designing tonight's outfit. It came to me from our president. He wants you to wear it."

I watched as Cinna produces a red dress that looks several sizes too small from his rack.

"Will it fit?" I asked dubiously. It doesn't even look like it would fit Prim.

"The fabric stretches," Cinna explained. "Quite a bit," he added when my face continued to look disbelieving.

It looks as awful on as I imagined. It scrapes my thighs, hugs my boobs and forces them upwards and outwards. My back is mostly bare, along with my legs, arms, and chest. Cinna apologizes profusely as I step into the red stilettos and he coats my lips with a deep crimson shade.

"What happened to all the ribbon and frills from the Victory Tour?" I tried to joke because Cinna looks like he might cry and I feel like I might cry too.

Cinna didn't say anything, but his eyes were filled with disgust. He could barely look at me and I felt awful.

"I should get going," I picked up the 'invitation' from the dressing table, where I left it earlier, and as I passed the mirror I got a glimpse of the way the red dress contoured my behind, leaving nothing to anyone's imagination.

Peeta stared at me, all of me, when I found him waiting by the elevators. In contrast to my ensemble Peeta wore a fine-wool suit. He looked handsome and matched the image that he has been presenting since the day he was reaped back in District 12.

"You- uh-, you- uh-, you look…" He stared and I was uncomfortable, not least because my underwear was digging into unmentionable crevices.

"Let's go," I said flatly and pressed to call the elevator.

"Peeta Mellark!" The first voice to greet us upon stepping foot in the plush bar was a woman with shockingly pink curls that seemed to stand straight up from her head. "Goodness, you are even more handsome in person."

Peeta smiled in the gracious manner that only he could muster when confronted with these insufferable people. His arm found my waist and he rested it there as he chatted with the woman, Matella Silvera – the widow of an ex-game maker. She had been taken in by his charm before she even laid eyes on him and she promised to set her sponsorship in motion with the office in the morning. "If The Boy lasts that long," she had added.

Peeta led me towards the seating area and offered to fetch me a drink. I politely obliged and sat delicately on the edge of one of the leather sofas, knowing that if I sat any further back there would be nothing left to anyone's imagination.

"It can't be! It's the Girl-On-Fire!" Exclaimed an oily man with electric blue facial hair in a theatrical voice as he sat down next to me. "You certainly look a lot more…" he paused searching for the words to describe the transformation of my pink cupcake dresses into this red body-contouring excuse for clothing. "Mature." He settled on, as his eyes settled on my chest and his hand settled uncomfortably close to my thigh. "Don't worry," he murmured as he noted my eyes darting down to look at where his hand had rested. "I know I'm not allowed to touch until I pay."

Peeta joined us with two drinks. He offered one to me and the other to our new target. Peeta was his usual charming self, his voice betrayed nothing, but his hand that rested around my waist was digging into my exposed flesh. Peeta's eyes were boring into the eyes of the oily man, but his eyes never once met Peeta's and instead freely drank in every inch of my bared skin.

Before he left to join a mentor from District 1 by the bar he finally met my eyes. "My offer stands as long as your tribute is alive. Just let the sponsorship office know when you're ready."

I didn't have time to ask what offer he was talking about before he had already crossed to the bar. Peeta looked at me questioningly and I was about to shrug when Matella Silvera appeared with one of her friends, who was also apparently a big fan of Peeta.

After twenty minutes of watching the crowd of aging women surrounding Peeta grow larger and larger I decided I could risk slipping away to the bathroom.

On my way back from the bathroom I spotted Peeta, still mobbed, but the crowd had thinned somewhat. It seemed that the party was winding down. I saw Johanna Mason, a mentor from District 7 leaving the bar and heading for the cloakroom. A small flicker of hope warmed my insides. Perhaps now we could finally get away from all of this.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Girl-On-Fire," the voice was unfamiliar and so was the face. The man was tall, tanned, and he had flames tattooed around his neck.

"Do you like this?" He asked gesturing to his neck, clearly noticing that I was staring.

"Oh… um…" I searched frantically for a neutral comment. "It's pretty unique," I settled on with a smile.

This seemed to have been exactly what he wanted to hear. "Well, I like to think I'm your biggest fan," he gave me a wink. "Not many would dedicate this wholly to one Victor. It is such a honor to finally meet you."

I stuttered some more, unsure of what to say. He was looking at me expectantly so I offered up a girlish laugh that had always managed to cover my nervousness during interviews with Caesar Flickerman.

"You really are something else Girl-On-Fire," he said with a moist smile playing on his thin lips. "I just hope your tribute lasts long enough for us to spend a lot more time together." As he said it he reached out to twirl a loose lock of my hair around his fingers and then lightly stroked his fingers down my neck. I froze and he noticed. "Sorry, I always find it so hard not to touch before I pay." He was just about to remove his hand when I felt Peeta's arm around my waist.

I let out a breath that I didn't even know I was holding and gratefully accepted the firm kiss that Peeta pressed to my cheek. "Are you ready to head back?" He asked me pointedly. "I am dying to know how The Boy is getting on." He looked up at the man I had been talking to. "See what his kill count is," Peeta spat out and the man laughed heartily.

"He's a scrappy little thing," the man smiled almost fondly and I couldn't help the disturbed look that must have crossed my face.

"Yes, yes," I said a little too eagerly. "Let's get back and see how he's doing."

"It was nice to meet you," Peeta offered his hand out to shake our new acquaintance's and he obliged.

"A pleasure."

There was a car already waiting to take us back to the training building. Peeta opened the door for me and followed me inside. The driver was an Avox, but still neither of us dared to say a word until we were alone. Peeta shrugged out of his suit jacket and offered it to me.

It was a little big so when I pulled it around my body it covered my arms, back, and chest. Only my legs were left over exposed. I mouthed a thank you to Peeta and he smiled back but there was still rage in his eyes.

"The sponsor money isn't free, is it?" I posed the question the moment we are alone inside my room without really expecting an answer, just hoping that Peeta was on the same page as me. He turned to me and looked me in the eye for the first time since the man with the electric blue facial hair had joined us. He just shook his head and I could see that he was swallowing back tears in his ice blue eyes.

I reached out my hand to take his and squeezed it tightly. If I had to be facing this with anyone, I'm glad it's Peeta. We have both already done things that we are too ashamed to admit to or re-live. Things for which other people - my mother, Prim, Gale, Delly Cartwright -would judge us. But these are things we know about each other and don't pass judgment on. This will be another thing added to the list of moral crimes we have committed together.

I don't realize that my own tears have over flown until I feel Peeta's hand brushing them away. Then his hand moves to my lips and he rubs them a little roughly to remove the crimson lipstick. Now that I am aware of my tears I can feel them getting heavier. Peeta takes my hand and leads me over to the wardrobe where he finds me a pair of silk pyjamas.

First he removed his own jacket from around my shoulders exposing the red dress that I now hate so much more than when I first saw it earlier this evening.

Under different circumstances the way that Peeta tore the red dress from my body could have looked like two lovers eager to feel one another's skin, but as it was he tore it from my body in anger, hoping to do as much damaged to the dress as possible. I could feel that his skin was flushing with rage, but neither of us said anything and he didn't meet my eyes again until he had dressed me in the silk pyjamas that covered everything below my collarbone.

He stripped down to his underwear and we lay together in my bed. We lay awake for almost an hour. I could hear from his shallow breaths that he was on the verge of tears. "Peeta?"

I heard him sniff and swallow. When he spoke his voice was strong, without a trace of fear. "Let's not speak until morning," he whispered. His lips pressed against my bare lips and I felt some kind of calm settle over me.

Just after 3am we were woken by an Avox at the door. The Boy had died. His killer was listed as natural causes, presumed hypothermia.

When I first looked at Peeta it was relief that I saw in his eyes. He hid it quickly and I did too.

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Notes: As I said I have not published anything for a long time so it would really mean a lot to get some critical feedback. What did you like? What did you not like? What had you rolling your eyes?


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